


An Iron-clad Heart

by modernKhione



Series: salva me, fons pietatus [5]
Category: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!
Genre: F/M, Gen, Not Canon Compliant, Pact Marks, Pre-Relationship, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:01:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24971974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/modernKhione/pseuds/modernKhione
Summary: Though the outcome of your question to Solomon isn't what you hoped for, Satan makes sure you have what you need to seek the truth by other means.
Relationships: Main Character/Satan (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!), Satan (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Original Female Character(s), Satan (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Reader
Series: salva me, fons pietatus [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1777036
Comments: 2
Kudos: 67





	An Iron-clad Heart

You were ready. You had to be. All signs pointed in one direction, and it was one you had no intention of going in. You took a deep breath and unlocked your phone, opening up the texting app. The words you wanted to write came quickly: you had mulled this message over for a week now—even longer, perhaps. The genesis of your question likely lay at some point soon after you began your reading, after your dreams began. (Though you now suspected they were more a series of memories from a past life than just a slew of bizarre dreams.)

It was time to find out the truth—if he was willing to give it to you. You could never tell with him. You took a deep breath, waiting. He had opened the message—there. He was typing a reply. Your phone shook in your grip as the seconds passed. Then—silence. He had stopped typing, but there was no response.

You waited.

Finally, your screen changed.

**< No. >**

You stared at the word. _No?_ All that, for a _No?_ You cast your phone aside and screamed, curling up in your chair to muffle your voice against your knees. You breathed deeply. All right. Wasn’t this the answer you wanted? A simple yes or no? A clarity to your dilemma? But “No,” you realized, was _not_ what you wanted from him. _No._

You wanted an _explanation,_ a vindication of the sleepless nights you’d endured. To know your unease, your instinct, had been justified. Not a denial. Not a simple, “No.”

A knock came at your door. Satan called your name, his voice muffled. “May I come in?”

You breathed again. “Yes.”

The door clicked open, and your favorite demon let himself in. His eyes scanned you from top to bottom, taking in your disheveled state. “He wasn’t forthcoming then,” he remarked. There was nothing for you to refute. Satan took your silence as response enough. “Do you still want to pursue this?”

“What do you mean?” you asked, lifting your head up slightly.

He looked at you carefully, as if what he was about to suggest were dangerous. “Solomon is not the only survivor of his kingdom, though his cooperation would have made this easier. But there are still others who knew him when he was king.”

You sucked in a breath. Something in you—perhaps just residual affection from your dreams—balked at the idea of, well. Circumventing Solomon’s wishes like that.

But another part, the part that burned with a thirst to know the truth, was eager, even hopeful, at the promise in Satan’s words. You warred with yourself, trying to come to a decision.

Perhaps sensing your inner conflict, Satan added, “Why don’t you think about it? You don’t have to decide right now. But do let me know if you want to keep—”

“Yes,” you cut in. Satan raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure," you insisted, unfurling your body so you sat upright in your chair.

He nodded slowly. “Then you may not like my suggestion, but it is the easiest way.”

You had a suspicion you knew where this was leading. “Asmo, right?”

He gave you a rare smile. “Yes. You’ll want a pact with him first, however, to ensure it doesn’t get back to Solomon.”

You made a face. “I don’t know if I want to—to— _manipulate_ —”

And you stopped, hearing Satan laugh, really laugh, for the first time. It was a shame it ended as abruptly as it had begun; his laugh, when wrath was filled of pure joy, was something you thought might even inspire angels to envy. It rang in your ears even after it faded, the echo of his amusement smoothing away any hint of distrust you held for his plan. “Don’t worry,” he said, reaching out to the side of your face. His fingers lingered a bit, and you had to fight to keep yourself from leaning in against his touch. His voice was warm with affection as he said your name. Then he quickly brushed a lock of hair behind your ear, as if suddenly realizing where his fingers were. “You won’t be making Asmo do anything he doesn’t really want to do, trust me. Better minds than yours or mine have tried and failed to pull one over on the Avatar of Lust.”

Belatedly, you recalled the story of Asmodeus and Solomon’s ring. “I…see.” You bit your lip. “But what would—why would he agree to help me? To make a pact with _me_?”

Satan chuckled, and you looked up to find his eyes lit up like puffs of green flame, mischief dancing in them as if he were some trickster spirit of old. “Oh, he’ll want to, after he hears that I have a pact with you.”

You had to stop for a moment, struck by the implication of what he was saying. You decided to address the most illogical issue first. “But he’s not Levi.”

Satan nodded, his mouth still curved in amusement. “True, he’s not ruled by envy like Leviathan. But he will be curious—and I’ll take care of the rest.”

Well. There wasn’t much you could say in the face of such confidence; you didn’t know his brothers half as well, after all. It was time to address the other issue, then. “We also don’t actually have a pact though.” Lying and subterfuge—these had never sat easily with you, nor did they come naturally, your nerves always getting in the way.

Satan cocked his head. “Then we’d better fix that right now, shouldn’t we?”

You blinked. “Are you—are you _actually_ going to make a pact with me?” Your heart began a trip-hammer beat at the thought; this wasn’t real, was it? You had thought to call his bluff, to see what else Satan had up his sleeve. Not…this.

But it seemed like your words broke some spell over this demon you were so fond of, and Satan lost the edge of cock-sure confidence he had carried throughout this whole conversation. He looked away, cheeks tinging pink as he said, “Only, of course, if you want to. I mean, that is, I could of course find a way to make a false—”

“No,” you breathed out, your voice weak. Your words sounded distant, as if someone else were speaking from afar. “Make a pact with me. Please.” Your voice wavered slightly, but Satan seemed not to notice—or care. From your classes and your research into Solomon, you knew that pacts were—or could be, at least—more than mere contracts between a human and a demon. A thread of doubt wove its way into your thoughts though, as this occurred to you. “What do you want to do with the pact?”

You weren’t asking for the obvious: the trap for Asmodeus. No, you meant to ask what the terms of the pact would be, and judging by Satan’s expression, he understood you completely. He cleared his throat slightly, then looked at you again, his eyes once again clear of any doubt. “To know when you’re hurt, and to protect you, if you want me to.”

You closed your eyes for a moment. Was he thinking back to that night, in the alleyway? When he had to come help take bodies away for you? He knew now that you were able to apparently defend yourself, though neither of you had looked much into where that power had come from in the face of your dreams about Solomon. (And if Satan had done any research, he had carefully kept it secret.) So his offer of protection—was it something more? You knew you would regret it for the rest of your life if you refused his offer of a closer bond though, however transactional it would be.

You opened your eyes and nodded your assent.

His lips quirked upwards slightly, and your favorite demon, one of the only people to whom you had ever bared your worst self, began to speak. “I am Satan, Avatar of Wrath. I pledge myself to you, that we may be bound by an unbreakable pact. This I swear to you on both my name as well as the very blood that runs through my veins.”

You watched him in silence, wanting to commit this moment to your memories forever. Even if you were so old you’d begun to forget your own name, you hoped you could remember the way Satan looked at you right now, his gaze burning into you, his focus intense, but imbued with all the affection you knew he was capable of, locked inside his raging heart. But then he called your own name, and your focus shifted. Now you were present in this moment with him instead of watching as a spectator.

“Do you accept?”

You swallowed against your heart in your throat, your head airy, almost as if it were about to float away. You had to gather your wits and ground yourself before you felt able to reply. “Yes. I do.”

Then a searing—a flash of heat bloomed on the side of your neck, and you gasped—but it was gone as quick as it came. You clasped your hand to your skin where it had felt branded, but it was cool to the touch.

Satan’s hands covered yours, gently tugging away as he leaned in to peer at your neck. His breath tickled you as he spoke, and you fought to suppress a shudder. “So that’s a pact mark.” His tone was curious, neutral, as if he were making polite conversation about the weather.

You couldn’t help the disappointment that rose in you at his voice, which had been so open and inviting to you just a few seconds before. But you pushed it down, trying to keep your breathing steady; you had only just remembered that demon hearing might mean that he could hear the way you reacted to his proximity, and you hoped against hope he wouldn’t notice.

But your fears were for naught. Abruptly, as if he were suddenly aware of his position, he pulled back, averting his eyes somewhat. “Right, well, I suppose it’s a good thing it’s in a visible spot.”

You let out a silent breath before asking the question that had popped into your mind. “What does it do?”

Satan’s brows lifted up slightly. “It marks you as mine. In the same way that I am now yours. A sliver of my magic has attached itself to your soul, and it’s a manifestation of that sliver. Your classes didn’t cover this?”

“No.” You shrugged a little, smiling wryly. “I don’t think the professor was too keen on handing more humans the knowledge on how to control their kind.” Especially not with Solomon wandering around the halls. But from the way Satan’s eyes darkened at your reply, you had a feeling that your Demonology professor was about to receive a visit from a very miffed Avatar of Wrath. And you weren’t sure you felt the need to warn them. Then a thought occurred to you. “Wait. If a human gets a mark for every pact that they make, then…” You trailed off, your mind’s eye flashing to a memory of Solomon, but not one of your own, and to the wide expanse of his skin as he revealed himself to you before coming to bed at night. You felt your face heat up at the image, but you nonetheless noted that in that memory, his skin was smooth and unmarked. Almost desperately, you tried to banish it from your mind at once.

There was a certain wrongness in thinking about Solomon that way that you weren’t sure how to express; it was not just the fact that the once-king didn’t know that you held these memories of him. It was something else, something that felt even more out of place because Satan was here in front of you.

Unfortunately, it seemed like Satan guessed exactly where your thoughts had headed, though thankfully he didn’t know the contents. His eyes narrowed a bit as he mused, “Yes, Solomon must be covered in marks by now. And yet he doesn’t wear a glamour, either.” Your poor heart was spared, at least, of hearing the implications of that statement, which Satan left unsaid.

You took a deep, steadying breath. “So, what now?” you asked, hoping to change the topic.

It worked. A slow smile crept across Satan’s face, rendering him almost puckish in its promise of mischief. “Now we lure Asmodeus in.”

**Author's Note:**

> Since I finally finished editing that last one-shot, now I'm free to type up & upload stuff that requires less editing. I have a lot of stuff written already (I have to handwrite, I can't just come up with stuff while typing. =/ Weird brains I guess).
> 
> I also headcanon that Satan feels slightly distant from the other brothers because of the way he was born, so he's more willing to use their full names than their nicknames, especially when they're not around (like here).
> 
> Let me know if there are any typos/grammar errors.
> 
> Finally, thanks @allechant for looking up the text for Satan's vow for me!


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